After the brief meeting, Arthur accompanied Mordred to her room. The young knight, still fuming with an annoyed expression, muttered something unintelligible before throwing herself onto the bed and turning her face away, deliberately ignoring her Master. Arthur simply chuckled softly at the almost childish display, closing the door behind him.
Soon after, he led Jeanne through the long stone corridors of Yggdmilenia Fortress. Stained glass windows painted soft colors across the polished floor, giving the place a solemn, imposing aura.
"So? What do you think of the Fortress?" Arthur asked, breaking the silence as he walked beside her.
Jeanne glanced around once more, noting the luxurious details: finely woven tapestries, dark carved wood furniture, the glow of magical lanterns that imitated fire. Everything exuded wealth, tradition, and prestige.
"I have no demands when it comes to housing," she answered simply, her voice calm yet firm. For someone who had grown up in simplicity and renunciation, such excess held no weight.
Arthur raised an eyebrow, amused. "Really? And what about food?"
"Food?" Jeanne looked at him with genuine puzzlement, as if that word carried more weight than it should at that moment.
Minutes later, the two were seated at the dining table. The hall was wide, crystal chandeliers shedding golden light over steaming dishes and sparkling glasses. Homunculi had brought the ingredients, but it had been Arthur who prepared the meal.
The delicious aroma filled the air, and Jeanne couldn't resist. The moment she tasted the first bite of juicy meat, a soft moan of pleasure escaped her lips.
"Delicious!" she exclaimed, nearly forgetting her usual serious, reserved composure.
She had never eaten anything so flavorful. Since being summoned into the modern era, she had tried several foods and had been charmed by their variety and taste. She thought nothing could surpass even a simple street meal. But now… what Arthur had prepared eclipsed them all. Every spice, every detail felt tailored to her palate.
In life, even at the height of her fame, she had never tasted anything close to this. For Jeanne, it was almost paradise itself.
"Do you like it?" Arthur asked with a smile, carefully watching her reaction.
"Yes, it's incredible!" Jeanne answered, unable to hide the sparkle in her eyes.
"As long as you enjoy it." Arthur tilted his head slightly, satisfied.
He watched her eat with innocent joy, and a sincere smile appeared on his lips. It was rare to see her so disarmed, so natural—so human.
"How can you cook this well?" Jeanne asked, still amazed.
"Because I'm a genius," Arthur replied lightly, making her smile back.
She lowered her head slowly, gazing at his smile. The warmth of the room, the taste of the food, and the serenity of that moment created a charming atmosphere. Jeanne, almost without realizing, blushed deeply. Her heart beat faster, seized by a strange mix of shyness and contentment.
Later, lying in her bed, she tossed and turned restlessly. Arthur's face and that dinner refused to leave her thoughts. She closed her eyes only to replay the scene—the way he laughed, the way he looked at her. Sleep did not come easily.
---
The Next Day…
Peace, fragile though it was, had returned to Yggdmilenia.
Along the fortress walls, dozens of homunculi labored tirelessly. Stones were lifted with effort, beams reinforced, spells applied to restore cracked corridors. The sound of hammers echoed in the air, blending with the low hum of magical energy reinforcing the structures.
Outside, across the scarred plains, other groups worked to restore the land. The previous night had been spent cleaning the battlefield and collecting the bodies of fallen homunculi. At last, the real repairs could begin.
For safety, Yggdmilenia had erected a powerful barrier around the Fortress, repelling intruders and prying eyes. The result was a desolate region, where only the constant echoes of work could be heard.
But the homunculi weren't the only ones busy. The family's Masters were mobilized as well. Fiore, in particular, busied herself with long conversations with the Mage's Association—reporting, justifying losses, and probing their reaction to the new stage of the Holy Grail War.
Meanwhile, in another part of the Fortress, Chiron walked the corridors alongside Jeanne. Both stopped before a particular door. The Archer knocked twice, his knock calm yet firm.
From the other side, a clear voice called:
"Come in."
The door creaked open, revealing an unexpected scene.
Arthur and Mordred sat face-to-face, their right arms locked in a fierce arm-wrestling match, hands gripped tight, the air tense with energy. Mordred clenched her teeth, her face red with effort, while Arthur wore a relaxed smile, as if merely amused.
Jeanne blinked, confused, while Chiron arched a brow, his composure steady as ever.
"…What exactly is going on here?" Jeanne asked, incredulous.
"A bet," Arthur answered casually, without missing a beat.
"A bet?" Chiron repeated, intrigued. "And the reason?"
Mordred growled before Arthur could respond:
"This idiot said he can eat more pancakes than me without getting sick!"
Arthur chuckled, his arm still steady against Mordred's force. "Exactly. The loser washes the breakfast dishes. And for the record, I'm going to win."
Jeanne sighed, pressing her hand to her forehead. "You really turned a discussion about food into… this?"
"It's a matter of honor!" Mordred shot back, teeth gritted.
"Honor and hygiene," Arthur added with a wink.
The tension grew, the sound of strained muscles filling the room like the clash of warriors. Chiron, though calm, let a faint chuckle slip through his nose.
"You two…" Jeanne murmured, caught between disapproval and disbelief.
"…are oversized children," Chiron finished, arms crossed.
As if to punctuate his words, the table creaked dangerously, threatening to collapse under the pressure.
Mordred grunted, sweat forming at her temple, while Arthur remained relaxed, almost bored.
"Getting tired, Mordred?" he teased, brow raised.
"Shut up! I'm going to—!"
Before she could finish, Arthur pressed down firmly, slamming her arm against the table with a sharp thud. Mordred's eyes widened in shock.
"And… victory for me," Arthur declared, as casually as if announcing he'd finished his tea.
Mordred yanked her arm back, massaging her wrist, face turned away in irritation. "That didn't count! You cheated somehow!"
Arthur laughed. "Cheating? No. My dear Mordred, that was simply natural talent, discipline, and… well, a little genius."
Jeanne covered her mouth, trying to hold back a laugh. But the scene was too absurd; a smile escaped her lips. "You two… were really fighting over pancakes?"
"It wasn't just pancakes!" Mordred snapped, furious. "It was about dignity, pride, and—"
"—and who washes the dishes," Arthur cut in smoothly, pointing toward the imaginary pile. "And now, that glorious task is all yours."
Mordred slammed her fist on the table, pouting like a sulking child. "Damn it!"
Chiron allowed himself a small smile. "King, you should be careful. Keep beating Mordred like this, and one day she may declare war on you over… culinary matters."
Arthur laughed loudly, shaking his head. "Let her declare war then—as long as I don't have to wash the dishes."
Even Jeanne, unable to resist, let out a gentle laugh.
---
Mordred dragged her feet to the kitchen, still grumbling like she had lost an actual war. Arms crossed, brows furrowed, lips pursed—it was obvious she wasn't happy.
Arthur followed behind, whistling contentedly, like a king who had just won a throne. Jeanne walked with them, trying to remain composed, though her eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter.
"This is humiliation!" Mordred growled at the sink full of dishes. "A Knight of the Round Table shouldn't waste time with such… menial tasks!"
"A Knight of the Round Table who loses a bet should," Arthur retorted with a victorious smile.
Jeanne tilted her head, puzzled. "All this… just because you argued about who makes better pancakes?"
"It wasn't just pancakes!" Mordred shouted, cheeks red. "It was a matter of honor! I couldn't let my arrogant Master gloat!"
Arthur pretended to think dramatically. "Hmm… maybe I should make pancakes tomorrow, just to rub a little more salt into that wound."
"If you do, I'll—" Mordred stopped, grabbing a soapy plate. "I'll throw this right in your face."
Arthur laughed, leaning back comfortably in his chair. "Not a very smart move on your part."
Mordred growled low, scrubbing furiously, foam splashing everywhere.
At that moment, Caules walked in, blinking at the sight of Mordred in an apron, soap up to her elbows. "Uh… did I miss something?"
"You missed a historic event," Arthur answered seriously. "The day Mordred learned the true meaning of defeat."
"SHUT UP!!" Mordred roared, splashing water everywhere with the sponge.
Chiron appeared at the doorway, arms crossed. "I see someone is finally teaching Mordred the importance of domestic duties. A crucial step in any warrior's growth."
"Chiron! Don't tell me you're taking his side too!" Mordred protested, but the Archer only smiled calmly, offering no clear answer.
Jeanne, unable to hold it back, burst into crystal laughter.
Mordred, embarrassed, buried her face in her soapy hands. "Why is everyone against me?!"
Arthur simply patted her shoulder, still laughing. "It's not against you, Mordred. It's just that… you're so funny when you lose."
(End of Chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."